


Familiarity

by peanootzramano



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: F/M, expensive headphones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 02:55:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16232756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peanootzramano/pseuds/peanootzramano
Summary: "Michael is an amalgamation of peculiar paranoid quirks. Jeremy can read those tell-tale ticks from a mile away."





	Familiarity

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first Be More Chill fic I ever wrote. I completed this piece in like the beginning of June within a couple of hours after inspiration hit. Truthfully, I forgot all about it until I was organizing my laptop and I found that I still had it saved. Hopefully it's still as decent as I remember when writing it! Enjoy!

Familiarity. After everything that happened to him, to his school, that warm fuzzy delirious feeling of intimacy was something Jeremy craved most. The creak of worn pipes ricocheting persistently from within the dim stucco-slathered walls of Michael’s beloved basement. The fragile (and ultimately exposed) bulb swinging overhead from a single wire, catching every little movement and breeze to paint the carpet in an active forever-changing beam. How the thickness of the air swirling throughout the room made his eyes itch in a slow yet deliberate burn he knows all too well. All the inconveniences he recognizes; quirks he has learned never to take advantage of. Mostly he savours the peculiar mix of high quality pot and absurdly cheap candies fizzling away on the back of his tongue.

Yet, as much as he hates to admit it, the permanent silhouette pressed firmly into the slip of Michael’s side is taking quite some time to get used to. It wasn’t that Jeremy particularly disliked Rich – especially with his new, cleansed persona; a man who has swapped coiled fists for radical secret handshakes he has yet to clue a single soul in on – but it is an altogether strange experience to hear kind vowels lisped from Rich’s mouth. It is, however, thrilling to see Michael so unquestionably…happy. All crimson-cheeked and dewy-eyed and with wild, restless hands which never seem to know where to rest on Rich’s body. Almost as though he fears he will touch him in the wrong place – be so doting and crazy with affection that he might scare him off. Rich. His own boyfriend.

Michael is an amalgamation of peculiar paranoid quirks. Jeremy can read those tell-tale ticks from a mile away.

Not only is Rich a fresh, unexpected addition to their miniature formation, but he takes to the pot like a new-born puppy. A combustion of energy and vivaciousness the duo have never seen before; gnawing emphatically on the uneven crimp of his nails and speaking with such speed that neither of them can even begin to locate their own footing within the conversation. But those little nuances are utterly endearing. Fascinating. Watching him spiral out of control – a thread unwinding hurriedly from its spool - before snapping back to attention. All in an instant. If It were not for those glorious breaks to breathe and hic-hiccup they would certainly end up with a serious case of whiplash.

Sometimes Rich would resurrect a long-since forgotten meme from the ether, audibly fascinated by the ‘majesty’ of Bad Luck Brian. Sometimes he would rant about how unfairly Pluto has been treated by the solar system and how much the planet ‘truly mattered’ in the grand scheme of things.

Much like Pluto, Rich is in a world all on his own. A strange, captivating, unforgettable world. Jeremy cannot even begin to comprehend him.

Dipping his hand into one of the many bowls scattered haphazardly across the cluttered coffee table, Rich plucks free a sugar-laced gummy worm to circle it slowly across his open tongue. Smacking his lips at every juncture. And for a fleeting moment, Jeremy is certain that he will fall witness to a sudden awkward re-enactment from Lady and the Tramp; a notion which causes his abdomen to tighten considerably in a sudden spike akin to panic. And he simply can’t fathom why. Michael deserves those candid moments of pure devotion. Michael deserves to find himself thrown into every single lung-fluttering moment of breathlessness Rich can give him. Michael is special, after all.

Yet, before Rich can sink candy-coated kisses over the flourish of Michael’s grinning mouth, he is turning toward you with an extraordinary gleam in his eyes. Pupils blown, lips pulled back over crooked teeth into something of a leer. It’s a gaze not too dissimilar to the kaleidoscope of violence which would flash across his expressive features before he would smother you and Michael into a terrorized corner. A predator famished for prey. Sucking in a breath and lowering himself to the ground. Waiting. Watching. Preparing to strike.

“D’you think Michael still wants to suck your dick as bad as he used to?”

G a s p. All at once a collective exhale. Oxygen thrust forcefully from plump lungs. Michael’s body becomes cocooned in infallible iron. Joints solidified. An architectural masterpiece born in an instant; moulded from loose lips. His paralysis is desperate, certain that if he were to remain perfectly still – does not move does not think does not breathe –recent revelations would cease to exist. Thumb locked tightly over the reset button; floating neon ghosts cannot halt your hunger trail if they are never released. His numbness acts as a withered band-aid pressed clumsily across an open wound.

And Jeremy? Jeremy chokes pathetically on his soda, heaving feebly with carbonated bubbles tickling mercilessly at his sensitive throat. His open palm hammers at his chest for several elongated minutes, clearing away the dust and fizz (and buying time to form any semblance of thought or understanding. Surely Rich was joking?).

“Wh-What?”

Rich has turned his attention elsewhere, if only for a minute. His presence diluted in misplaced thought. So ignorant to the consequences of his assured vocabulary.  
“You know,” He starts, glancing back toward Jeremy, his fingertips racing across the garnet stripe feathered throughout his hair. “I know things have changed n’all, but I bet he still does. Right, babe? I mean... S’like wanting to try caviar cos of how good it’s s’pposed to taste. Even if you’re now eating prime rib-“ An elbow pressed innocently into Michael’s frozen ribs. “You still wanna get a taste of that caviar. So, I’m just curious.”

It takes a second or two longer, but Michael finally allows himself to move. Carefully prying his glasses from his face, folding them over his palm, and pinching firmly at the roll of mocha skin at the bridge of his nose. An attempt to regulate his breaths into gentle, easy puffs. “No, dude. That’s not… I don’t even wanna do tha-.”

“You don’t?” Jeremy’s jaw clicks open, unhinges itself to make room for the script flowing uncontrollably from an eager tongue. Too much pressure. Too much push. Too much feeling.

Michael lifts his head at that, fumbling his glasses back onto his face; almost expecting a crude imitation Jeremy to be sitting in his place – or worse, a devious little Squip sewing invisible tassels into his spine; preparing to p l a y. 

His lips gleam as they part. And truthfully, Jeremy always did like the shape of his mouth.

“Well, no, I… I…”

“I do!” Rich nods swiftly, braiding his fingertips into the bobbled fabric at the hem of his hoodie. Prevents him from fleeing – not that he could in this moment, his knees quivering too severely. “I – we – can’t be the only ones in school dying to know what’s between them big ol’ hips of yours.”

Jeremy’s eyes briefly lower to the prominent curvature of his pelvis tenting against painted jeans, an odd sense of pride scalding his abdomen. He tilts himself forward, words whispered carefully into the vibrating atmosphere; the flesh of his arms peppered with electricity. “I didn’t know you thought like that.”  
Gravity pulls Michael inward. Hypnotized. “Yeah, well…” The arm draped around Rich’s midsection tightens, a wordless reprimand for needlessly heightening the tension, yet Rich can feel his thunderous heartbeat ricocheting throughout crooked fingertips.

“You know, it’s not too late to find out.” Rich is practically singing, dipping two fingertips into a bowl of violet sherbet. Presses them into the pop of parted pink lips and suckles s l o w l y. Deliberately s l o w l y. “I’d definitely wanna see that.”

Michael is right. The boy is utterly enchanting.

Rich’s lashes flutter dizzily across freckled cheeks, watching both boys drift toward one and other; pure unapologetic magnetism.

And then Michael tucks himself backwards – all at once, abrupt withdrawal. 

“It’d be too awkward. We’ve known each other for like… ever.”

Michael and Jeremy don’t look away from each other. Subtly shifting forward.

Then Michael tips himself back. “It’d be really awkward. We’ve known each other for like… ever.”

A beat. Then Jeremy descends backward, almost as swift as he arose. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

“TCH!” A pop of twisted tongue on open lips, and Rich is rolling forward onto his feet; steadying himself on discarded magazines and padded carpet. “You guys are fuckin’ lame! It’s not hard.”

He moves with all the grace of a splintered spinning-top, wobbling on pointed toes toward Jeremy. His hands find petite shoulders, pressing in on him until his spine sinks back into worn leather, and falls onto his lap with knees braced on either side of that hand-crafted pelvis. And he kisses him. H o t and w e t and oh so fucking messy. 

He’s teeth and tongue and tease and beautiful torture, and Jeremy finds himself gripping onto his arms for dear life before the equilibrium contorts into pure hysteria. He does not fight, nor fear, for Rich’s tongue caresses his own in a motion which silences his brain; saccharine honey wrapped up in a petite package weighing beautifully across craning hips. And all at once things go dark, Rich’s thumb dropping from the switch behind Jeremy’s head.

He does not dare to relent. He does not dare stop. But there’s a hidden passage within him – a ravenous part, something wickedly insatiable, which needs every. single. one. of his senses to s a v o r the quickness of Rich’s tongue and hummingbird rattle of hands flowering open on his chest. He can only long in punctuated silence for the crease of decorated muscle sinking solidly over his own petite frame.

There’s another click. Even closer, this time. One which bathes the basement in sapphire and magenta, illuminates every dip and juncture and slope of Rich, reflects the h e a t dripping from Michael as he hovers beside you, fingertips trembling beneath his beloved Space Invaders poster. Neon lights glimmer emphatically betwixt the backlight, your vision distorted around the edges, and despite his proximity you cannot quite conclude whether Michael is grinning, smirking or licking his lips.

Rich parts from Jeremy with a thrilled little gasp, his thumb tipping underneath structured jaw to guide him toward Michael and those swollen lips glistening oh so invitingly. Perhaps it is his time spent with Rich, perhaps Michael has learned extensively from his limitless porn collection, but he bites Jeremy’s lips with such vigour and accuracy that Jeremy is certain he shall dissolve right there on a grotty basement floor. There’s a gentle trace of steady fingertips brushing over the flesh at the base of Jeremy’s nape, massaging against damp tendrils to further cement their mouths together. 

That slick click! of lips rolling intimately over one and other. That soft, melodic purr of lungs harmonizing into a moment’s sigh. Jeremy has never felt quite so high before. Michael’s glasses have become a collision of sweat and fog.

Rich takes Michael’s spare hand with a certain determination, a conscious guide across the hills and valleys of faded denim to rest triumphantly against Jeremy’s swollen crotch. S q u e e z e.

There’s a moan dancing throughout the air, sharp and effortless. And yet, who could say just what where it had come from.

“I knew it! Heere’s packin’!” Rich exclaims, far too loud in the otherwise provocative air.

Jeremy would thank him if he were not so transfixed on the wave of Michael’s sweet and sticky tongue.

The pressure of Rich’s hips fades swiftly, replaced only by a brief gust of wind as he removes his skirt; his body an exquisite display of rose-petal scars and precise cinnamon freckles. 

Michael breaks away all too suddenly, his tongue tethered to Jeremy’s feverish lips by a small silver strand which breaks at distance. It takes every fibre of his distracted being not to whimper from sheer loss alone. Through lungs which gasp for breath yet fall victim to undiluted intoxication, Michael sinks onto his knees. Mouth open, pliant, and deliciously wet. His fingers tremble tremendously against stuff zipper, pulling it down tooth by agonizing tooth before it folds open, tugging against plush hips, and delve into his briefs to pull free his beautifully swollen cock.

“Shit,” Michael breathes, tongue pressing forward to glide imperfectly over Jeremy’s slit. His lips slot in place over the jewel of his head, cheeks immediately flooding with vibrancy. His brow creases in concentration. His nostrils flare prettily with the motion of controlling every individual breath. He’s no stranger to this – the sweet lip-burning, cheek-swelling stretch of pleasuring a cock or two; Rich’s collection is quite (unsurprisingly) vast. But nothing quite compares to the real thing. The heat. The pressure. The smell. How Jeremy’s pubes brush patterns across his nose every time he sinks low.

Words cannot describe how badly Michael has longed for this. How many nights he came in his own hand with teeth leaving little crescents in his own wrist to keep himself from uttering those three tantalizing syllables. Jer-e-my. Jer-e-my. A wonderful mantra firmly imprinted on the crease of his brain.

Jeremy’s fingers are long where they push over the top of Michael’s head. Restless. Gravity has his head swaying to an inaudible beat, his lashes a decorative lace stencilled over porcelain cheeks. He cannot help but to elevate his hips that but closer to Michael’s slurping mouth, feels the solidity of his jaw sinking in toward his balls. This was new. This was wonderful. This was too much and fuck it feels so good and holy shit why weren’t they doing this all the time this is amazing Michael was holding out on him!

Rich has a voice of pure molasses, his tone positively scandalous where it comes in quick, short pants. Jeremy forces his eyes to open, and stares, transfixed at the sight before him. Rich has made himself more than comfortable. He has stripped himself completely naked, a picturesque gloss of airbrushed marble draped on the sofa before them. His thighs are spread as wide as the compact space will allow with his ankles dancing across cluttered coffee table. His fingertips dip luxuriously through the glisten of his cunt, pressed inside of himself in rapid succession; the heel of his palm smacks roughly across swollen clit with every motion. And he’s d r i p p i n g down onto the carpet below.

The room smells of him. Jeremy’s tongue vibrates with the need to t a s t e.

“He’s g-good, ain’t he? With that mouth?” Rich purrs, his body spasming every time he hits just the right spot. Jeremy nods desperately, unable to remember how to speak. And from the way Rich rides his own hand, Jeremy is almost certain he has came already.

The visual alone is almost enough to have the room joining him. 

Distracted temporarily, Michael pulls his mouth from Jeremy’s twitching cock with a triumphant pop! ; his mouth dripping from the talent of his actions. He wipes distended lips with the brush of his sleeve.

“I don’t want you to cum yet.”

 

Rich exclaims, his eyes glittering with an unmistakable pride; stars colliding from within a crooked smile. “That’s my boy! What do you have in mind?” His spare fingertips tug incessantly at his clit for a minute, energized and oh so fucking horny.

The spill of crimson lips coiled beneath incessant teeth, Michael looks at Jeremy. “You should feel what it’s like inside him, dude. Trust me, it’s incredible.”

Jeremy struggles to catch his breath. Again. A palm pressing over the curve of his ill-defined pecs to somehow settle his buoyant lungs. 

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Michael nods, licking his lips. “If… if you want.”

“I do, I… if you want.”

“We all want!” Rich giggles, stumbling back to his feet to walk toward his boyfriend. He’s slow, calculating, as he presses his drenched fingertips into the slip of Michael’s gaping mouth. He massages his tongue – makes sure he focuses on every single drop. And oh, Michael is eager to receive. 

It takes a look. One single well-placed look, through the shudder of damp lashes, for Michael to begin stripping off his clothing. There’s a certain shimmer to the burn of Rich’s eyes which ooze fascination and love – and Michael longs to retain that look for as long as fathomably possible. 

Jeremy is certain he’s never seen a body quite as beautiful as Michael’s. His skin glitters underneath the saturated light, tantalizing mocha spilling forward into swollen hips. His chest is firm but soft and peppered with little tufts of sweet-smelling hair. And his cock – fuck – it curls in place around his thigh whilst dripping in mouth-watering precum. Rich grabs his ass firmly within one palm, tugs him forward into a sloppy kiss with their mouths not quite eating. He touches Michael so gently, his wet fingers brushing him nice and slowly.

Rich whispers words of trust. Of encouragement. Of l o v e.

It makes Jeremy’s jaw ache, just a little.

When Rich pulls away from his lover, it is with a glance of pure determination, his eyes locking firmly with Jeremy’s own. There’s a spark in his eyes akin to combustion, bewitching scarlet flames crackling intensely within their polished depths. And, fuck, Jeremy is ready to b u r n.

The climb up onto Jeremy’s round hips is an unsteady one with Rich bracing his palms against the back of the recliner – w o b b l e rest r e l a x – before he can position Jeremy underneath him in just the right position. He eases himself down with patience and care. Jeremy’s cock feels even bigger inside of him than he ever expected, filling every little part of him, has him shuddering before he even reaches a full settle. Rich feels as though he may burst, rip open at the seams in the most wonderful way. And he’d let that happen.

All for this moment. This beautiful fucking moment. No wonder Michael wanted a taste for as long as he did. 

“Holy shit!” Rich squeals, teeth chattering over one and other as he fights through the pleasure. Can’t cum. Not yet.

Uneven nails press obscure patterns over buttered shoulders, a cryptic message signalling something far more salacious than any of them could have possibly planned; scents of caramelization and sugar and heavenly smoke have long since faded into the background to make way for a mouth-watering sensation of sweat and sex and cum. Rich nibbles his moans into the slope of Jeremy’s ear. 

It took some time, but Jeremy finds his voice tucked amongst a limp tongue and tattered lungs, his eyes fixating dimply on the azure-soaked flicker of Michael’s bright features. He strokes his own cock so slowly and with such restraint, as though indulging on the visuals laid out before him; as though they prioritize above his own ecstasy.

“Michael. Come here.” His tone is firm, yet warm. The syllables warped around quick-quick-quicker breaths. 

Michael does not need to be told twice, shuffling his feet toward Jeremy with his hands resting across the outer edge of his own thighs. Posed. Poised. Ready for anything and everything Jeremy is willing to give him. He’ll worship it all. Especially when he has been treating Rich so nicely.

Pushing his hips deliberately up into Rich – and revelling in the hyperactive squeal he receives in return – Jeremy glides his palm across Rich’s clit, coating his hand in the sweet nectar dripping over his digits. It takes only a singular touch for Michael to stumble forward and brace his hands on the recliner, every inch of his body singed from the contact. Jeremy’s touch his firm but slow – unsure yet determined – pumping Michael with the same assertiveness that he offered him.

There is no perfect rhythm. Rich cannot seem to stir his hips to any appropriate motion, Jeremy loses himself in the wonderful sounds emanating from Michael’s fluttering mouth and Michael has been lost to the beauty of all his dreams coming true all at once. He has Rich. He has Jeremy. He has pleasure. What more could he possibly want?

It is Michael who cums first. His spine curls in on itself, a severed marionette crippling without those reassuring strings; what beautiful tragedy. He feels his limbs dissolve into gelatine; all at once utterly weightless. The pleasure swirls relentlessly within the pit of his stomach and it’s t o o much. It’s everything. He cums in quick, hot spurts over the gleam of Jeremy’s heaving torso and those well-worshipped lips.

Rich’s laugh comes quickly, thunderous, practically delirious as he coos his appreciation toward his own lover. “That’s my boy. My sexy fuckin’ boy.”

Jeremy can’t help himself. He licks his lips, focuses – if only for a fleeting moment – on the taste of his best friend. That salty sweetness he has heard so much about. Utterly mouth-watering. “I’m.. g-gonna cum, too.”

When Rich nods, it is brief. Distracted. Too busy focusing on taking every inch Jeremy is willing to give him, his toes curling on either side of those thighs. His fingers flutter franticly over the flourish of his clit, trying – in vein – to match the rhythm Jeremy has set. But it’s broken. It’s messy. It’s needy and wild. It’s everything Rich embodies.  
It takes only a second for Rich to cum. His nerve-endings erupt, capillaries popping beneath sweat-slicked skin. Electricity bursts throughout every cell in his body in a motion so wonderfully violent that he tumbles unceremoniously from the swell of Jeremy’s cock; a collision of breaths and moans all tucked up on the gentle carpet.  
Jeremy prepares to follow him, to spray Michael’s table in a moment of madness. He gasps, gargling an odd amalgamation of names, his spine craning from the chair before his moment becomes lost in the pressure of Michael’s mischievous mouth pressing back over the top of his cock. Slurp. Slurp. Swallow. That’s what best friends do.

Michael collapses beside Rich on pure instinct alone, their lips passing briefly before relenting; slaves to their exhausted lungs and eager heartbeats.

“Ho-ly Shit,” Jeremy murmurs, his lashes dancing across wet cheeks. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

Michael moans. A soft, happy moan.

Rich simply grins. Wickedly enthusiastic. “Yeah? You think that was good, just wait til we fuck your ass!”


End file.
